Noah says life is life.

I am listening to a crap load of music.  I am also reading The Name of the Wind.  And Watchmen.  And Perfect Fifths.  That’s right, I am in the middle of three novels.  The Name of the Wind is easy to read.  It is one of the most well written fantasy novels I have read, and it grabs you and does not let go.  Watchmen is a discussion on good and evil, and it has always been a beautiful testament to genius behind graphic novels.  Perfect Fifths is my own guilty pleasure, though I have no guilt in reading it.  I guess when I say guilty pleasure I am using it as a way to imply that it is a novel that focuses on a whimsy.  It is a discussion of growing up and love.  The confusing implications, the wonderful moments that make life an ever-changing, ever-present classroom.  It definitely has spoken to me on many levels.

I recently went to Barnes and Noble and wept internally at all the books I wanted but could not afford.  I need a job more than anything.  It will give me structure, it will give me income, and it will give me a purpose aside from this free-floating.  There has been something completely eye-opening in the last six months or so.  It feels like a second lease on life has been given to me.  The ability to create a life that I have always desired.  There is a part of me that feels guilty for thinking that still.  The life that I had lived was one that I desired, though it felt premature.  Still young, still desiring different life experiences, still wishing and hoping to move forward with childhood dreams, while at the same time rushing fast forward into adulthood.  With that dichotomy, it is hard to understand where true maturity lies.  You are behaving in a way that promotes an idealized future, but at the same time desiring those moments that any early twenties individual wants: going out and hanging out with friends, committing to experimentation in life desires, like living in a city or moving out of your comfort zone, taking your hobbies and attempting to create something real from them.  Though I loved, and still love, my ex in a way that cannot be touched by anyone, I feel – and yes, it makes me feel beyond guilty – relieved that I am free from those obligations.  THAT is where the immaturity lies.  Why did I accept the ring when I did not think he was ready?  Why did I push it knowing that there was a part of me that desired these experiences knowing when a marriage occurred, there was a lower chance of them happening?

I just got an e-mail from him saying he closed our joint checking account.  Even though I am confident in the decision we made to break-up, there are still moments, like receiving that e-mail, that can completely tear me down.  Six years.  Six years with him.  That is one-fourth of my life.  No matter how strong I feel, how confident I feel, a simple text or e-mail from him still destroys me momentarily and makes me lose my step.  If I ever see a friendship with him, I need to integrate him into my life gradually.  A text here or there, an e-mail that mentions a band he might like, anything to begin accepting his communication in a way that will not steam roll me.  It seems like such a long and arduous journey, and I know it will be, and I know it will be worth it, because no matter how our relationship ended, Jonathan is a great man.  I cannot see a life without him having a role in it, whether small or large, he has been my life for one-fourth of my years.  Admiration for him does not stop because of careless behavior we both exhibited.

The last five or so days have been some of the best in a long time.  I feel like I am coming alive again.  I feel confident and I feel like I am beginning to understand what desires and goals I have.  They feel like they are forming into a very real picture and I can accomplish them.  What sucks, however, is that I still run into issues when it comes to dealing with my family.  I have lived on my own, relatively speaking, for some seven years.  I am thankful that I have had a family that has been there for me during this time.  They opened their home to me and have had to deal with my odd behaviors, but at the same time I feel very close to the suffocating feeling I had while in high school.  I know they show their worry for me in their own ways, but at the same time, my frustration level has risen exponentially.  I know there are things I should be more courteous about, and I am at fault there, but there are also moments where I feel like my parents fail to see that I am almost twenty-five and have had to deal with very real issues before and have handled them in ways that benefit all parties, and most specifically by myself, without their help.  Life is a process, and they are further along than I am, and with that it affords knowledge, experience, and wisdom.  However, I have not had those experiences, and though I know they offer advice in their effort to help, it seems like they do not understand that I want to go through the motions, learn the movements, of this dance of life so that I can make my own judgments about what is right and wrong, what makes me happy, and what I can do when faced in a similar situation down the road and do not have them to pick and fight my battles.  My dad said to me earlier this week that he had to deal with things on his own because no one was there to help him and love him and offer advice, and I have that.  Because I have it, I should possess gratefulness.  I am grateful.  But I also am not soliciting advice from him.  I do not want to sit and listen to a forty-five minute lecture that details all the ways I think wrong and act wrong.  My mom always says that it is my father’s way of showing he loves me.  And I understand that, I do, but I also know that after so many times of hearing how I do everything wrong it just reaches a pitch point of not being able to handle anymore words thrown at me.  Living at home after being away creates its own problems.  Trapped in this middle ground of living as the adult you once were and dealing with the uncomfortable restraints you once experienced in high school and that my parents still imply despite the years.

When I moved back one of the first things I said to my mom was that I wanted to get a job, save the money and move out as soon as I could.  That is still a goal of mine.  I desire it for several of reasons.  But in this economically disastrous time, it is hard to carry out those goals.  I am not using that as a safety net.  I used to think that people who said that were just too damn lazy to make a real step forward.  But after applying to different places and signing up for every job website on the internet and sending in resumes and writing cover letters and trying to network, I am beginning to see it is a reality.  I am competing against men and women who have years of experience and higher qualifications than me who have been let go because of downsizing.  And I am a freaking English major.  Following the intellectual dreams of your past and then realizing the truth that it means relative poop in the “real” world is disheartening.  I am always told that I can find writing jobs, journalism and social media presentation, and I believe that is true.  They are the jobs I search out most often and apply for.  My background in terms of what I studied leaves me as an ideal candidate, however, I have little experience in that field.  I write this blog, and my music blog, but I have little to offer in terms of a portfolio.  An editor of the high school newspaper, a large quantity of written work from college, but since parting ways with the University of Iowa, my jobs have focused on shipping out small tubes of synthetic DNA.  Not a lot to do with writing.

I have read these two books my dad got me for Christmas about blogging.  I find them interesting and have highlighted and made notes about changes that need to be made and of important features, but I still feel overly hopeless when I sit down and begin making the necessary steps at advertising myself.  How many people are out there at this moment writing blogs and attempting to find work in this forum?  Quite a few, I imagine.  And as my own worst critic, I feel like my writing is sub-par.  I even have the Writer’s Market and have spent many days going through and circling the places that I can attempt freelance, and even sent in letters, resumes, and writing samples.  One day I am motivated and feel like the stars are aligning, and then days later I feel like Murphy’s Law is placed with a curse above my head.  The question becomes how I can have those positive vibes sustain themselves.

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